


Of Speeches and Sofas

by as_with_a_sunbeam



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 1787, F/M, Fainting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, New York City, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 08:30:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16014170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/as_with_a_sunbeam/pseuds/as_with_a_sunbeam
Summary: All the sleepless nights and skipped meals catch up with Hamilton at the worst possible moment. Thankfully, though, Eliza is there to help. With the love and care of his family, he'll soon be back on his feet.__A fluffy, feel-good hamliza hurt/comfort piece





	Of Speeches and Sofas

Everything started to go white as Hamilton reached the conclusion of his speech, the faces and colors of the hot assembly room blurring and swirling together before beginning to bleed away into an endless blank landscape marked only by floating lights at the corners of his vision. He was fairly certain he was still speaking, the well-practiced words coming by rote, but he felt far away from himself. All those sleepless nights he’d spent preparing were finally catching up with him at the worst possible moment.

Polite applause from the gallery indicated he’d reached the end of his remarks. He swallowed as he inclined his head in thanks and stepped down, away from the podium and the attention of the room. When he reached the first table, he braced himself, bending double in an effort to force some of the blood back to his head.

The little lights only swarmed faster at the edges of his vision.

“Mr. Hamilton?” The unknown voice sounded close and far away all at once. He held up a hand, tried to gesture he was all right without actually having to speak.  His feet felt clumsy underneath him as he stumbled away, desperate for privacy to regain his bearings.

The cloakroom wasn’t far, mere steps away, but the distance may as well have been miles, and seemed only to be growing as he moved towards the doorway. He remembered finally grasping the cool brass of the doorknob, his weight falling heavily against the wood as he pushed his way inside. The sensation of falling had followed, down and down, much farther than the floor ought to have been, before everything went dark.

**

Fingers brushed through his hair. His head felt tender and sore, the skin throbbing and tight around his right temple, but he was resting on something soft and warm. Something that smelled of rosewater soap. He smiled to himself.

 _Eliza_.

“You scared me half to death, Alexander,” his wife’s voice scolded above him, more half-hearted than heated. Her fingers continued their soothing, rhythmic motion through his hair. His eyes peeled open reluctantly, but her beautiful, concerned face hanging close to his was well worth the effort.

“Sorry,” he muttered to her. He prodded at the sore spot near his temple, and winced. “I think I bumped my head.”

Another familiar voice answered from somewhere to his right, “I’d say, and gave Mrs. H and me a scare, too. With any luck, you knocked some sense in while you were at it.”

Eliza smiled weakly, her eyes glancing away from him for a half a moment. “Doubtful, Mr. Troup, but hope springs eternal, I suppose.”

“Mean,” he charged them both as he tried to roll to the side, only to be stopped by Eliza’s insistent hand on his chest.

“No, no, sweetheart, just lie back,” she said, her voice low and soothing, all hint of teasing gone. With gentle encouragement, she urged his head back down into her lap. “You need to rest.”

“The doctor’s on his way,” Troup added, kneeling down into his line of sight.

“Why?”

“You fainted, and gave your head a good knock,” his old friend explained. “Best someone have a look at you.”

He frowned heavily. “I’m all right. I don’t need a doctor to tell me I need to eat something and get some sleep.”  

Troup snorted in disbelief.

“Let the doctor look you over,” Eliza insisted. “You’re already developing a bruise on your forehead. And you complained you didn’t feel well after breakfast this morning—with influenza still running rampant through the city, I want you examined properly.”

“I don’t have influenza,” he muttered.

“Then you’ve nothing to lose by letting the doctor examine you,” she replied. Reading his continued resistance, she added, most unfairly, “Do it for me? Please?”

The steady motion of her hand in his hair took the fight out of him. He sighed, then agreed, “Fine.”

“I’ll tell you what, though, Ham, that was one hell of speech you gave.”

He smiled. “My condition didn’t interfere too badly with my performance, then?”

“You did wonderfully, my love,” Eliza assured him. “The most moving rendition I yet heard from you.”

The reality of the hopeless situation he’d faced reoccurred to him even as he took heart in her assurance. “I’d lay odds it made no difference.” The worried frowns exchanged between Eliza and Troup was all the answer he needed. “I thought not.”

“The vote was 36 to 20, with yours uncounted.” Troup patted at his shoulder consolingly. “But don’t take it to heart. Mr. Patrick Henry himself would have failed to convince those dullards in Clinton’s pocket. The gentlemen of sense in this city will mark the words said today, of that I  assure you. You may soon find yourself a candidate to be Clinton’s successor.”

Not a position he would relish, but he smiled at his friends kind words all the same.

**

He did not, in fact, have influenza, nor any other disease of concern, or so the doctor concluded. As he’d expected, the prescription was to eat a hardy meal, rest, and apply a cool compress to the knot on his brow. After being suitably poked and prodded on the cloakroom floor, he was finally allowed to rise and make his way to the coach with help from Troup and Eliza.

“If you’re feeling recovered later, I have tickets to the theater tonight I’d be happy to share,” Troup offered as he assisted him into his seat.

Sick as he felt, it hardly seemed likely, but he nodded all the same. “Perhaps.”

“Thank you, Mr. Troup,” Eliza cut in, stepping up to take the seat beside him. Troup backed up with a final wave as Eliza ordered the driver to take them home, then settled next to him.

“Do you want to lie in my lap again?” she offered as the coach lurched forward, out into traffic.

“How could I refuse such an offer?” He did feel foggy and woozy, still, exacerbated by the motion of the coach, but even were it otherwise he’d never turn her down.

She scooted to the side and motioned for him to lie down. Bending his knees up, he fit himself lengthwise across the seats and pillowed his head on her lap. Her fingers brushed through his hair again.

He sighed contentedly and smiled, looking up at her. “Thank you for coming today.”

“Of course. I love hearing you speak.”

“I’d think you’d be sick of it by the time I gave the final version. I made you listen to every draft over the past few days.” She’d stayed up with him each night, listening to him prattle on about taxes and State powers while she worked on the mending for their children. It was a miracle she wasn’t as sick and exhausted as he was, frankly. Then again, she likely had the good sense to eat and nap when the children were otherwise occupied, he considered.

“I never get tired of listening to you.”

“A feat of endurance worthy of the highest praise.”

She chuckled, though her eyes quickly turned serious. “The dramatics that followed I’d have been happy not to have witnessed. You frightened me.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I feel like such a fool.”

Her expression was fond. “You’re not a fool. Just human, however much you may hate to admit it.”

“Mm,” he hummed, adjusting to a more comfortable position and closing his eyes.

“Rest, my love,” she encouraged.

He drifted towards sleep.

**

A kiss to his forehead brought him back to wakefulness some minutes later. “We’re home,” Eliza whispered.

He blinked heavily to clear his vision, then sat up.

“Slowly,” she advised, supporting his back as he rose. “Take your time.”

The driver opened the door for them, and, observing his pitiful state, inquired, “Do you need any help, sir?”

“I can manage,” he said, more gruffly than was warranted.

Eliza took the driver’s hand to step down, her smile clearly meant as an apology for his surly manner. Levying himself up with a grunt of effort,  he followed his wife under his own power. When the world tilted dangerously around him, he reached for the door to brace himself. Eliza’s arm looped under his shoulder despite his previous words, and he found himself grateful for her support as he tried to get his feet under him. After a few deliberate breaths, he pushed away and started for the front door with Eliza’s steady assistance.

“Bed?” she asked when they stood in the foyer.

He was panting slightly with exertion from the short journey already, his head whirling. The idea of climbing the staircase in his condition felt akin to scaling a mountain. “Sofa,” he decided. “I’ll lie down upstairs after I’ve rested and perhaps had a bite to eat.”

Eliza frowned with concern, but complied, helping him into the parlor.

“Papa!” Pip bounced up from his little desk, full of excitement at the unexpected and apparently welcome interruption of his studies.

“Excuse the interruption,” Eliza apologized to Pip’s tutor. “My husband is feeling a touch under the weather today. Perhaps Pip’s lesson could be postponed until tomorrow?”

“Oh. Yes, of course, Ma’am,” The tutor complied easily, gathering his things as Pip grinned and Hamilton lowered himself onto the sofa.

Pip grabbed a piece of paper off his desk and ran over. “Look, Papa. I can add with big numbers, now, and subtract, too! We can go see the monkeys, right? Because I did my work?”

He smiled at his little boy and tried to make his swimming vision focus on the page of squiggly numbers and sloppy blots of ink. Eliza, who had just finished speaking softly with the tutor, came rushing over. “Pip, honey, Papa needs to rest.”

Pip frowned. “Why? Are you sick, Papa?”

He nodded. “But only a little. I fell down and bumped my head earlier.”

“I’ll get you that cool compress the doctor suggested,” Eliza told him. “Come on, Pip.”

“No. He’s all right,” Hamilton insisted.

Eliza appeared ready to object, but their boy was already clambering up onto the sofa. He inched over to accommodate Pip’s weight beside him. “Be good,” Eliza instructed instead, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Papa needs quiet. No shouting or bouncing, all right?”

“Yes, Mama,” Pip agreed.

When Eliza had disappeared into the hall, Pip began hunting around his father’s waistcoat, his hands grasping with purpose towards the pocket watch that had disappeared into the folds of the coat when Hamilton had laid back.  Once Pip had clasped the watch in his little fist, he began to fumble with the clasp to open it. Hamilton reached out to do it for him, even as he asked, “What are you doing, Pip?”

“I need to look at the watch while I hold your hand, Papa. Just like you do to make sure I’m healthy.” He reached out and grasped Hamilton’s hand tightly with his right hand, as he frowned down at the watch in his left. Heart melting at the sweet gesture, Hamilton realized this was his son’s version of testing his pulse. When a suitable amount of time had passed in Pip’s estimation, he gave a solemn nod, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to his father’s forehead. 

“Any fever?” he asked, trying to keep his expression serious.

The little boy squinted in thought. “Mm, no,” Pip declared at last, laying the watch back on his father’s stomach. “So we can play marbles now.”

 “I’m afraid I don’t feel well enough for a game of marbles, my dear fellow,” he replied apologetically. Pip’s lower lip jutted out in disappointment and he flopped over against Hamilton’s chest. Hamilton wrapped an arm around his son to draw him closer. “I’m sorry. I’m sure Geli will play with you if you ask her.”

Pip’s shrugged a shoulder up towards his ear. “She’s not very good at marbles.”

“Well, she’s still very little. You’ll have to teach her,” he suggested, kissing the boy’s forehead tenderly. “That’s your job as a big brother.”

“Do you think Alex will be good at them?”

“Maybe. When he’s a little bigger.”

“Not as good as you, I bet.”

Hamilton laughed. “Nobody’s as good as me.”

“Except me,” Pip insisted.

“Oh, really?” He couldn’t help returning his son’s broad grin. “We’ll have to see about that when I feel better.”

Pip sighed and snuggled closer, giving him an affectionate squeeze. “I wish you were all better now.”

“Me, too.”

“Does your belly hurt?”

“A little. Mostly my head hurts.”

“You have a bump,” Pip observed, peering up at his face. “It’s red.”

“I know.”

“Why did you fall down?”

“I was feeling dizzy.”

“What’s dizzy?”

He considered a moment. “It’s like, when you spin around and around in a circle really fast with your arms out, and then you stop, but everything looks like it’s still spinning. Only I didn’t spin around first.”

“What were you doing before?”

“I was giving a speech.”

“What about?”

He smiled at the five year old’s incessant questions. “Money,” he answered simply.

“Are you pestering Papa?” Eliza asked, sweeping back into the room with a tray.

“No, Mama.” 

“He’s taking excellent care of me,” Hamilton assured her. “He checked my pulse and my temperature. Apparently I’m perfectly healthy.”

“My sweet boy,” Eliza praised, patting his back. “Why don’t you go find Judy and tell her I said you and Angelica could go outside to play for a little while.”

Pip perked up. “Really?”

“Yes. But make sure you put on your coat, mittens, hats and scarves, all right? You and Angelica. I don’t want either of you catching cold.”

“We will, Mama,” Pip promised, leaping from the sofa and scampering off up the stairs in search of his sister. 

She shook her head at the echoing pound of his feet on the steps. “Here, sweetheart. This should help,” she said as she laid a compress across his forehead. “I have tea, and Sarah’s heating up some soup for you. You’ll feel better when you have something in your stomach.”

He pushed himself up so he could drink the tea, adjusting the cloth on his head to a more secure position. Eliza brought the tray over and set about preparing his cup. “Is your stomach all right? The doctor said to be wary of nausea with a head injury.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “I’ve had worse bumps than this, and I’m well aware of the danger signs.”

“I’m sure you are. But the question is, would you tell me if you were experiencing them?” she retorted, shooting him a look usually reserved for Pip when he was misbehaving.

“Yes,” he promised, giving her his most charming smile.

“Hm,” she hummed skeptically, though the severity had melted away. She passed him the tea cup, then went to move away when he took his first sip. When he caught her by the hand, she glanced over at him and squeezed his hand back tenderly. “I’m just going to check on the soup, sweetheart.”

“Stay,” he requested. Swallowing down the warm brew, he set the cup aside. His chin jerked to the strip of space on the sofa next to him.

“Alexander,” she huffed as he tugged her over. “You’re taking up the whole sofa. I’m a little bigger than Pip, you know.”

He pulled her down to sit on his lap with a roguish wink. “Plenty of room,” he insisted.

She rolled her eyes, but settled atop him. “I take it you’re feeling better?”

“Lying down is helping.”

“Good.” She stroked his cheek gently. “You had me worried.”

“After some food and a nap, I might even feel up to joining Troup at the theater.”

 Eliza shook her head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“I’d like to get dressed up and go out for the evening with you. It’s been an age since we had a night with just the two of us.”

“Hardly that long,” she argued. When he raised his brow, she sighed, and added, “We’ll see how you’re feeling.”

Sensing a victory, he grinned, and puckered his lips hopefully. She laughed and leaned forward, brushing her lips against his. His eyes fluttered closed as he savored the sensation.

“Eww! Mama and Papa are kissing!” Pip exclaimed, coming to an abrupt halt in the center of the parlor. Wrinkling his little nose in disgust, he zoomed off again towards the back door, towing Angelica along by the hand. “Come on, Geli! Let’s go!”

The little girl was all but stumbling over herself to try to keep pace with her big brother, all while pealing with laughter. Judy raced after them a beat later, holding two little winter caps aloft. He and Eliza shared a smile.

“Rest,” Eliza instructed him again, levying herself off his lap. “I’ll bring up your soup when it’s ready.”

“Hurry back,” he instructed around a yawn. The dizziness had faded away, and his headache and nausea had eased significantly. He sank back into the pillows on the sofa, and drifted pleasantly towards sleep.   

**Author's Note:**

> Though this can easily be read as a stand alone, it's also an answer to a few requests I've had to see chapter 7 of "An Elusive Peace" play out with Hamilton actually fainting after his big speech. I'm always a sucker for some sickly Ham and caring Eliza (with a little cute Pip thrown in), so I thought I'd give it a shot while I work out my plans for the next chapter. I hope everyone enjoyed!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! As always, feedback is highly appreciated!! :)


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